Sliders: Infinite Beginnings Ep 1: Renaissance
by PsychoFantasy2010
Summary: Join 16 year old prodigy Simony Knox and a completely new cast of characters as they begin their journey through different dimensions.  ::Involves Gay Themes::
1. Prologue

**Author's note: This story contains homosexual themes. I do my best not to beat the reader over the head with it, but one of the characters is gay, and there will be gay (as well as straight) romance down the line. If that bothers you, then this is not the fic for you...Happy Reading!**

_Prologue_

_Three Years Ago..._

The sullen, brown-haired girl sat motionless in the very last pew at the very back of the church, silently damning anyone and everyone to walk past. The logical part of her brain informed her how pointless and utterly misplaced her resentment was, but she didn't care. As far as she was concerned, she would hate the world if she so chose, because, at least at that moment, it certainly seemed to hate her back.

She had stuffed herself into a shapeless, conservative black dress for the occasion - the only garment she owned that was appropriate for a funeral - and she mused that it made her look something like a charred amoeba. Her typically unruly hair was no different today than it usually was - a voluminous mass of finger-sized curls that framed her face and cascaded halfway down her back. She hadn't bothered with cosmetics for days as she saw no point in catering to vanity during times of emotional distress. As a result, her face had taken on a particularly ashen pallor.

Stale air permeated her nostrils, and it was all she could do not to scrunch up her face. It had been quite a while since she had set foot in a church, but she made the quiet observation that they all seemed to smell the same. They also tended to look the same, with their neutral colored walls, wooden pews, and high ceilings. And, as always, there were the stained glass depictions and various artworks that, presumably, were supposed to provide a measure of comfort. But, to her, they were merely curiosities.

Of course, she had studied the Bible as a child, as many children had, but she considered it a purely intellectual endeavor. The idea of something that was ultimately unknowable was anathema to her. Sciences and mathematics had provided her with whatever spiritual sustenance she needed for as long as she could remember. Where others had embraced religion to fill their spiritual void, she had taken to algebra, calculus, physics, and the like. There was a universal connectedness that was open to her while working on an algebraic equation or considering a physics theory that was unmatched through any other experience.

She had indeed excelled. If symphonies were composed with mathematical formulae and theories, she would have been a virtuoso. In her early youth, teachers hailed her a prodigy, a genius, and other terms that ultimately served to widen the gap between her and her peers. Her parents' constant boasting of her accomplishments hadn't helped much either (She forgave them their pride, however. Any parent would have been pleased that their child had such a gift). Now, at the age of thirteen, she had won more recognition and awards than she could count, and she was so far removed from people her own age that she had all but isolated herself. When others spurned her attempts at friendship, she would retreat into a world of numbers, constants, and variables that would never rebuke her.

But now, not even her remarkable abilities granted her peace.

Now, she wished she were somewhere, anywhere else. She forced herself to attend because she would regret it otherwise, but solitude was what she wanted. The minister had urged her to seat herself in the front row, which was where immediate family would be seated, but she declined. She wanted to fade away, to blend in with her surroundings, and the best place for her to attempt that was the back row.

That was proving to be difficult even there. Another stranger had stopped to offer his sympathy. She saw nothing but pity in his eyes, and she truly despised being an object of pity. But rather than sully the memories of the deceased with an emotional outburst, she took it in stride. She shook his hand in a businesslike manner, then focused her attention to the front of the room.

Which was where the caskets were.

The caskets that contained the earthly remains of her parents.

The minister started the funeral service, but the girl paid him no mind. Nothing he said would be relevant in her mind, so she tuned him out. Instead, she allowed her eyes to drift over ornate gold carvings on her parents' caskets. Golden etching ran from the bottoms up the corners, until it disappeared under the American flag, which hung over both to symbolize their service in the United States military.

She damned the military and all who were a part of it.

In the days since her parents' deaths, her brain had not functioned properly. It was difficult to string together a coherent thought, let alone deal with the condolences of strangers and long-lost friends. It was as if she had been watching everything from outside herself - as if her life had turned into some horrible waking nightmare. And the more people tried to comfort her, the more reality tried to sink its ugly teeth into her head.

Not everyone there was a stranger, however. Seated near the front was Lieutenant Jon Hanover, whom she met two years ago when he moved to the military base where she had spent most of her life. He was a nice person, rather boisterous on occasion, but always seemed rather put off by the girl's intelligence. She was accustomed to the reaction. Then there was Rasheedah Jackson, their neighbor, who kept to herself, but was always genial when their paths happened to cross.

Her eyes wandered the room, trying to spot other faces she recognized, until they came to rest upon a tight, auburn bun belonging to the woman seated three rows in front of her. She knew it well. The bun belonged to one Sergeant Amelia Curtis. Somehow, her mother had considered this woman a close friend for as long as she could remember, although the woman never acted remotely friendly. In fact, she displayed the emotional range of a tree stump. She perpetually looked as if she were being assaulted by some noxious odor detectable only by her.

Sgt. Curtis had been the one to accompany her to the funeral since she had no surviving relatives, save for a Great Aunt she had never met, whose address was Twin Rivers Nursing Home, Boca Raton, Florida. Sgt. Curtis just happened to be in charge of St. John's Military Academy, which just happened to be where the girl attended school. The school itself had been built to accommodate the students of military personnel on active duty, which had included the girl's parents. Since their demise, Sgt. Curtis had allowed her to reside on campus until a more permanent arrangement could be made, but the girl was suspicious. Sgt. Curtis wasn't the type to do anything out of the kindness of her tiny, little heart.

Her thoughts drifted back to her parents. The possibility that one or both of them would never make it home had always existed. But it was something she, and likewise they, never discussed much. She had felt, as irrational as it may sound, that to speak of it would hasten its occurrence. But now, there was so much she wished she had said. So many things she wanted to apologize for.

At this moment, as she fixed her eyes upon the caskets holding the lifeless bodies of Travis and Melinda Knox, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would never have the opportunity. She would never again receive the praises of her father as he bragged about her accomplishments in school. Her mother's perfume would never again permeate their little house on the base.

She would never see them again.

It was then that she felt her resolve crack.

The emotional floodgates opened deep within, and it suddenly felt as if all eyes were upon her. The walls began closing in, and her breathing became more shallow and rapid. Her fingers absent-mindedly toyed with the silver cross dangling around her neck, as they often did when she was nervous. She had to get out of there; there was nothing else to it. The lone daughter of the deceased sprinting out of the church was bound to draw attention, but, piteous stares be damned, there was no way she could sit there another minute. It was too much. It was all too much.

So, she bolted.

Being in the last row of pews, she was in close proximity to the exit, which she flew through without bothering to close the door behind her. She didn't care much anymore how people reacted. Her eyes trained directly forward, her legs carried her outside into the sunlight as fast as they could. She didn't feel herself moving, although she knew she was; it seemed more like she was floating.

Once outside, she closed her eyes and drew a few deep breaths in order to steady herself. When she bothered to check her surroundings, she found herself in the church courtyard. It was lavishly planted with flowers and shrubs and was complete with intricate statues and carvings that seemed to mock her pain with their beauty. She made her way to a stone bench situated somewhere in the middle of it all and sat, with her face in her hands.

Tears that had been reluctant to come before flowed with a vengeance. She was sobbing audibly now, and crying so hard her tear ducts ached from the strain. The faces of her mother and father floated through her mind; faces that she would never see again. She had no one to turn to.

Simony Knox, daughter of the late Travis and Melinda Knox, was truly alone in the world.

A loud, choked shriek of anguish and frustration leapt from her throat.

She cursed her parents for leaving her.

She cursed the military for taking them away.

And as she looked up at the cloudless azure sky, she cursed a thousand different Simonys in a thousand different universes whose parents had come home to them in one piece.

* * *

Sergeant Amelia Curtis parked her car in front of the white, split-level house and hesitated. Entering the home formerly occupied by her deceased acquaintance was a bit ghoulish, even for her. Nevertheless, she pushed her feelings to the back of her mind, as she always did, and proceeded up the sidewalk to the front door.

She had known Melinda Knox since her cadet days. They had entered basic training together. Although 'friend' might have been too strong a word to describe their relationship, they did share a sort of camaraderie. Sgt. Curtis had always been extremely reserved; she considered it a strength of her character. She made it a point to never get too close to anyone, and never to let her guard down because, inevitably, someone would turn on her. Some would call it paranoia, but she called it life.

Melinda had been different, however. She always tried to include Curtis in her circle of friends, while others were content to leave well enough alone. She had always tried to draw her out of her shell, and had partly succeeded, although Sgt. Curtis would never have let her know that. She supposed she could have turned down Melinda's invitations and ignored her phone calls, but, deep down, a part of her craved the very closeness she denied herself.

And now all that was gone.

She reminded herself that mourning was a luxury she would not indulge in, and retrieved the front door key. It had been left in her possession to allow the daughter of the deceased access to her belongings. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. If anyone questioned her presence, she could always claim she needed to collect something for the daughter, but she hoped to avoid such a confrontation. Her goal was to acquire what she came for, and leave as quickly as possible.

When she entered the house she intended to move swiftly, but she was stricken by how everything looked just the same as she had last encountered it. She didn't know why, but she expected it to be…different, somehow. How many times had she drank coffee in that very kitchen while Melinda rattled on about something or another? How many times had she and Melinda sat in that very living room discussing the finer points of their careers? She shook it off. Dwelling on the past served no purpose.

From there, she headed straight to the girl's bedroom. It was surprisingly stark for a girl of only thirteen. Where there should have been various posters and hangings, the walls were bare. In fact, there were no signs that a child lived there at all. But Sgt. Curtis knew better, and so began methodically searching the room.

It didn't take her long to determine that what she was looking for wasn't there. She rummaged through every drawer, every shelf, and the entire closet. She had even gotten on her hands and knees and searched beneath the bed, to no avail. It was obvious she was in the wrong place, but she didn't know where to go from there.

She thought back through all the times Melinda had boasted about her daughter's 'gift.' At first, Sgt. Curtis had dismissed her bragging out of hand simply as normal parental pride. But when she had shared some of the girl's endeavors in more detail, it had piqued her interest. Certainly there were children that were well ahead of their peers in their studies, but the things Melinda had spoken about…they were beyond anything she had ever heard of.

Which had prompted Sgt. Curtis to do some discreet checking.

It turns out that Simony Knox was accomplishing things that even celebrated physicists had failed to do.

By this time, Sgt. Curtis had been through almost every room in the house. The only room left to search was the basement. Giving up had crossed her mind, but she pushed the thought away almost as soon as it came. She had gone this far, and she wasn't about to quit until she knew what she came for was not here.

She threw open the door to the basement and proceeded down the wooden steps. Light from the kitchen partly illuminated the way, but beyond that only inky darkness remained. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she felt around the wall for a light switch, but none was forthcoming. She stumbled around, and nearly fell once, until she found a chain hanging from the ceiling. Impatiently, she grabbed it and pulled.

If ever there was a doubt in her mind as to the intelligence of the girl, it was quickly washed away when the light filled the room. Before her was confirmation of everything Melinda had shared with her. Computers and various machinery that looked like it had been cobbled together from spare parts filled the room. Papers littered desks and filing cabinets. Directly in front of her was a dry-erase board containing complex numbers and variables she didn't pretend to understand. Sgt. Curtis allowed herself a little smile. _Bingo._

Wasting no time, she began hunting through the mess of papers and notebooks. Everything was in such a state of disarray that she wondered how the girl could achieve anything down there. She herself had to have everything arranged perfectly in order to get any work done. But, she did persevere.

After pillaging through almost every scrap of paper there, she came upon a commonplace looking binder. There was nothing about it that set it apart from any other binder or notebook down there, which was why it took her so long to find it. But this particular binder had, in bold black letters on the cover, the phrase _'ERP Bridge'_ written on it. To any other person, it would probably have meant nothing. To Curtis, however, it was the holy grail.

A year ago, she had had no idea what Melinda was talking about when she had mentioned it to her. But, after availing herself of a bit of her own research, she realized the implications a discovery like this could have for the world, the military, and most importantly…herself.

Now, all she had to do was verify that the girl's research was valid, but at this point, that was only a formality. A plan had already begun to form in the back of her mind. There was still much work to be done - the research, however brilliant, was still incomplete. Now that the girl's parents weren't there to support her, certainly she could use a…guiding hand. Someone of her intellectual capacity still needed direction…encouragement…to be molded into something valuable. And, if Sgt. Curtis happened to benefit from the girl's efforts…well, who's to say that she shouldn't?

As she left the basement with the binder tucked safely under her arm, she thought about the situation with some amusement. Answers to so many of the mysteries top scientists have contemplated for years may lie with a girl who had barely begun puberty.

Oh, the irony.


	2. Chapter 1

_1._

_Now..._

It was possibly the most beautiful thing Simony Knox had ever seen. Azure wisps of energy swirled before her. Whorls of color spanning the entire spectrum beckoned to her. The luminescent forces of the vortex raced toward its core with such rapidity it seemed as if it were pulling her toward it. Currents of air whipped dark, curly locks of hair across her face. She stared with unbridled awe, her verdant eyes whirlpools of energy. Research and experimentation had readied her for the technical aspects of the singularity she had created, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer brilliance of it all.

After spending endless days computing equations and poring over copious amounts of data, it was an exhilarating sensation to finally see the fruits of her labor. The various difficulties inherent in this kind of experimentation plagued her work, and many times, it felt as if she were chasing some mythical beast. Now, however, the results were staring her squarely in the face. The Einstein Rosen-Podolsky Bridge was a reality.

Slowly, she began to circle the vortex, drinking in every detail as she moved. The first thing she noticed was how remarkably two-dimensional it was. This wasn't completely unanticipated, but still, it struck her that something so powerful was, effectively, thin as a sheet of paper. As she progressed to what could be termed the rear of the thing, something else caught her attention. Rather than simply being a mirror image of the stunning display she had experienced a moment ago (which was what she had expected), the back of the vortex was completely transparent, save for a visual distortion that she likened to rippling water.

The glow of the vortex returned to view as she completed her inspection. Although she would never admit it, an almost God-like feeling coursed through her veins. A breakthrough of this magnitude was a feat unparalleled by anything she had ever experienced or imagined. A smile played across her lips, and she closed her eyes as she let the intense heat radiating from the vortex wash over her. The sensation was…

Heat…

Her eyes snapped back open.

There shouldn't be any heat.

The triumphant sense of accomplishment Simony felt moments before began waned.

Shaking off her reverie, she quickly turned to one of the various monitors occupying her lab and began scouring the data recorded from the anomaly. But even as she continued to search for a cause, she knew it would take time to analyze the data. There was no way she would find a solution then and there. Crestfallen, she took one last look at the magnificent blue whirlpool. A sigh escaped her lips as she stabbed a button on her keyboard and watched as the vortex dissipated before her eyes.

She snatched up a nearby notebook and hurled it across the room in frustration. She had meticulously calculated every variable, accounted for every imaginable contingency, but still, something was wrong. She had no clue as to what that might be. According to her projections, everything should have been perfect.

Simony plopped down on a wooden stool in front of the computer and took a tired breath. She knew she was being too hard on herself. Although it wasn't a complete success, she had just accomplished something that no one else on the planet had come close to achieving. Besides, she was only human. Even she couldn't predict every possible outcome. She hadn't accounted for something, and now her job was to find out what that was. But she devoted so much of her life to this project over the past few years, she couldn't help but feel disheartened.

During the time following her parents' deaths, the somewhat diminutive laboratory became more of a home to her than the school dormitories. In a turn of events that she could only term as one big cosmic joke on her, the formidable Sgt. Amelia Curtis had offered to allow her to reside at St. John's Academy. Simony had never thought of her as a particularly compassionate woman, and questioned the sincerity behind the offer, but in the end, it didn't matter much; Simony herself had little say in the matter. Since she had no family to speak of, it was assumed that this arrangement would be preferable to foster care. However, the problem with making assumptions is that they rarely turn out to be accurate.

Not long after she had taken up permanent residence at the school, Sgt. Curtis had summoned her to her office. In retrospect, it had to be the single most peculiar encounter she had had with the sergeant. Simony knew something was off from the beginning; she noticed Sgt. Curtis had the distinct air of someone who was trying to appear personable - and failing miserably. She proceeded to express an extreme interest in Simony's remarkable abilities and listened intently to every word she had to say on the subject. Then, Sgt. Curtis made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

"I am willing to convert a small part of the basement storage area into a working laboratory in order to further your scientific endeavors," she had said. At that, Simony's heart leapt with enthusiasm, until she amended, "However, I shall need to remain apprised of any and all projects you intend to explore. You have twenty-four hours to consider it and submit to me a list of materials you may need."

It was that moment, Simony belatedly realized, that should have raised a significant red flag.

Still, it had sounded reasonable at the time.

The laboratory, if it could be called that, had been situated just inside the entryway of the basement under the main office building. Two large metal shelves had been positioned to act as a barrier between her lab and the rest of the storage area, which seemed to stretch on forever. Most of her equipment from home had been delivered, as well as a computer system that was newer and faster than the one she was used to. As she examined the domain that would now be, for all intents and purposes, hers, she began to feel a bit of the giddy excitement she used to feel when taking on a new project.

That is, until Sgt. Curtis had entered the room.

The woman was all business; she had shed the somewhat affable demeanor she had previously attempted. Her face was inscrutable as always, and her severe bun almost made it look like she had been the victim of a botched facelift. Under her arm was a familiar binder.

"I believe I have just the project for you to undertake," she had said in the manner of someone who was not making a suggestion, but giving an order.

Simony quietly examined the binder and was dumbfounded. She couldn't believe she had fallen for this. Sgt. Curtis must have known about her research-

"I will be keeping an eye out to ensure you make proper use of our little investment," she said as she spun on her heel and left the room.

Then Simony had spotted the security cameras.

She had begun to think perhaps she had misjudged the Sergeant.

She had been wrong.

After that, she was exempted from several mandatory activities, including military drills - so long as she spent her extra time in the basement. If she didn't show up when expected, someone would be sent after her. Even though she would never trust Curtis, she found that she truly enjoyed seeking refuge in her lab. She was a scientist at heart, and even with her suspicions about the sergeant, her drive for research and experimentation wasn't curbed for long. Besides, she hadn't expected to make any sort of significant headway on the project Curtis had forced upon her - her work on it had come to an impasse the year before her parents died.

But now, three years later, she had made a breakthrough.

Luckily, she didn't have to be forthcoming.

She never knew exactly what Curtis had hoped to gain from her research, but she wasn't eager to find out. This prompted her discovery of a way to reconfigure her equipment to emit an electromagnetic pulse. In theory, it would be able to disrupt the security cameras for as long as she needed to work covertly. She wasn't sure at first if it had worked until the security guard - a squat, balding man by the name of Heidelman - had come down to investigate. She had explained to him that the scrambled video was a normal side effect of her work and couldn't be avoided. Heidelman, for his part, had simply grunted in response and returned to his duties.

Simony punched another button on the keyboard to discontinue the pulse. If she let it run too long, she might have to field questions she wasn't inclined to answer. She needed to review the data she collected anyway, and there was no reason to hide that from the ever-present cameras.

Eventually she knew she would perfect the wormhole; she felt it in her bones. There would be no more research to do, and she wouldn't be able to hide it forever. What then? Would she pretend to work in her lab to hide that her project was complete? Would she go public in hopes that someone would rescue her from purgatory? Those thoughts scared her more than anything else. Because these were questions that Simony Knox just couldn't answer.

* * *

Lucas Sergeant strode down the corridor in the main office building of St. John's Academy. He carried himself like a colonel or a sergeant, but closer observation revealed him to be a mere cadet who was a bit too full of himself. He came from a long line of military men - his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all fought for their country - and he was proud of his heritage. It had become something of a tradition in his family, and he embraced it. He had spent much of his life preparing to enter the army when he was of age.

The boy filled out his uniform well; he had taken great pains to cultivate his physique (although if asked, he would deny being so conceited) and it paid off handsomely. He kept his sandy-colored hair cut on the short side, but he wasn't a fan of the characteristic military buzz. He joked to his friends that it was because the girls needed something to run their fingers through. Many a pretty face had indeed fallen prey to those big hazel eyes and that debonair grin, but being able to turn heads as he simply strolled down the sidewalk was a reward unto itself.

The cadet tossed a glance at the grease-soaked paper bag cradled in his hand as he rounded the corner into another corridor. A self-satisfied smirk played across his face. He had been doing this so long, it almost seemed like a ritual. Heidelman, the evening security guard, wasn't allowed to leave campus while he was on duty, even to grab a bite to eat. So, purely out of the kindness of his heart, Lucas began slipping out to grab dinner for the guard, and in return, Heidelman would conveniently not notice when the boy happened to wander off-campus on the weekends.

He never strayed too far. Sometimes he just wanted to grab a bite to eat; the food in the mess hall was typically less than stellar. He would never do anything questionable - being escorted back to campus by the police was a sure way to lose what little freedom he had. He spent the majority of his time walking around the local mall. Sometimes he bought something small, like a watch or wallet, but mostly he just enjoyed the attention his cadet uniform garnered from the opposite sex.

He forged similar arrangements with other staff members, but the deal with Heidelman was by far the one he valued most - not only because it allowed him to come and go as he pleased, but because he thoroughly enjoyed his exchanges with the cantankerous security guard. He suspected Heidelman enjoyed it just as much, though he would never admit it.

Finally, he reached the room where he knew Heidelman would be and rapped on the door. There was a loud rustling from the other side as if he had just startled someone awake. After a moment, a gruff, irritable voice called, "Who's there?"

"Yeah, I've got three male strippers for a Mackenzie Heidelman?" Lucas called through the door.

Abruptly, the door flew open and a stubby older man - with a pate Jean-Luc Picard would be proud of - appeared with annoyance all over his face. Lucas mused that his expression tended to remain the same regardless of his mood.

"Hey, I'm not here to judge," he deadpanned.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Get in here smartass," he growled as he threw the door all the way open and headed back to his chair.

Lucas followed and closed the door behind him. He had visited this room any number of times - it was where Heidelman had a tendency to go when he didn't want to be found. The room itself was small and rather Spartan; the walls were an antiseptic white that made it feel like a hospital, and they were bare. The only furniture present was Heidelman's wooden swivel chair and the half-moon shaped desk that held the security monitors.

Security cameras across campus all fed their video into this room. The monitors were stacked three high and four wide inside a large panel that mimicked the shape of the desk. The whole rig looked to be from the stone age; the plastic panel casing had aged from off-white to dull yellow over the years, and the monitors had images burned into their screens. The cameras didn't require constant monitoring (a fact that Lucas was thankful for), but everything was recorded on antiquated VHS machines just in case something did happen. The whole thing was in dire need of an upgrade, but, so long as everything was still operational, the school certainly wasn't going to dole out the cash for a more modern computerized system.

Lucas sauntered over and plunked the grease-laden bag on the desk in front of Heidelman. "You know Heidi," he started, "if I keep bringing you these coronary burgers, I'm gonna be an accessory to suicide."

Heidelman's rotund face flushed at the nickname. "I thought I told you not to call me that," he grumbled.

"Oh, come on. Where's your sense of humor?" Lucas smirked.

"I lost it about the same time I met you." He looked up at the boy as he retrieved his sandwich from the soggy bag.

Lucas clutched his chest in feigned distress. "Heidi! You wound me!"

The man grunted as he rose from his chair, burger in hand. "How much do I owe ya?" he asked, ignoring the cadet's jibe.

"It's on the house," Lucas replied nonchalantly. "Consider it payment for letting me out last weekend."

He grunted again as he opened the door and left down the corridor, presumably heading for the staff lounge. "You know," he called over his shoulder, "you're gonna end up getting me fired."

"I'd be doing you a favor and you know it!" Lucas called after him. Then something on one of the security monitors caught his eye. "Hey Heidi!" he yelled before the man could round the corner. "Mind if I keep an eye on the cameras for a bit?"

Rather than stopping and turning around to answer, Heidelman simply grunted and waved his hand behind his head.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Lucas said to himself as he closed the door and headed to the desk.

The chair protested loudly as he seated himself. He could only contribute the noise to years of abuse by Heidelman's rear end. While it wasn't imperative that the cameras be monitored closely, Heidelman was rarely seen outside this room. Most times, Lucas found him napping in the chair or kicking back with a book or crossword puzzle. Obviously the school wasn't concerned about keeping good security. And that suited him just fine.

Lucas pulled himself to the desk and leaned forward. He had never paid much attention to the goings on displayed by the monitors, but what he saw this time surprised him. It was the basement. Specifically, that there was someone in the basement. That in and of itself was fairly innocuous, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why the school needed video of a storage room. But in this case, that someone happened to be a female. A female cadet.

A work area had been carved out among the shelves and boxes. Computers lined the surfaces, and equipment that Lucas couldn't even begin to recognize bordered the walls and shelves. It looked to him like some sort of makeshift laboratory. And in the middle of it all was the girl, looking for all the world as if she belonged there.

He didn't have any idea what she was doing, but he thought she certainly looked good doing it. He was immediately struck by how different she was from the rest of the female cadets on campus. Most of them were athletic, but they tended to resemble stick figures more than women, and their uniforms provided no assistance in that area. This girl was by no means fat, but she had all the right curves in all the right places. As a result, her uniform was a bit more form-fitting, and Lucas couldn't help but take notice.

Her hair was also atypical of the girls on campus. Long, dark curls cascaded down her back almost like a waterfall. During school hours and drills, female cadets were required to wear their hair up so as to keep it out of the way.

Lucas sat there, off in his own world, silently admiring the girl on the screen. He didn't realize it, but he had leaned in so far that his face was mere inches from the screen. He was so preoccupied, in fact, that he didn't even hear the door slide open.

The room began to fill with a nauseating strong floral fragrance. He wouldn't have noticed that either if the stench hadn't choked his breath. Instinctively, he looked to the door…

…and laid his eyes on the only woman to ever strike fear into his heart. Aside from his mother, of course.

Sgt. Amelia Curtis stood there in all her glory, arms crossed and lips characteristically pursed. Immediately, Lucas jumped from his chair. Unfortunately, he had forgotten his ankle was wound around one of the legs of the chair, and as a result, it went crashing to the floor, almost taking him along with it. Wisely, he ignored it, and scrambled to attention.

Lucas didn't know how long he stood in silence while Sgt. Curtis scrutinized him. Her eyes bored through his skull, dissecting him like an insect. He often joked that the woman could turn people to stone with a mere look. Now, he was beginning to wonder if there wasn't some truth to that.

"May I ask, Cadet, what you are doing in a clearly restricted section of the building?" Her words were like ice.

"Yes, Ma'am." Even his saliva had deserted him. "I was waiting for Lieutenant Heidelman to return, Ma'am. I…had a security concern that I needed to bring to his attention."

"Indeed," she said, unconvinced. "And what, pray tell, was this alleged concern?"

"Umm…well, I noticed that the security camera outside the mess hall looked like a wire was disconnected from it. I thought it would be a good idea to inform security, Ma'am." Inwardly, Lucas was impressed with himself. He thought the story was somewhat convincing, and that particular camera did in fact have a wire that was frayed to the point that the casual observer might mistakenly assume it was disconnected. He hoped she bought it.

"I see," was her only response. Once again, she stood looking at him in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about a minute. Then, he realized her gaze was directed not at him, but at the monitor he had been absorbed in just a few moments ago. If realization dawned across her face, he couldn't tell.

"My office, Cadet." He jumped at her abrupt voice. "Now."

The clacking of Sgt. Curtis's heels echoed throughout the corridor as Lucas followed behind. Mentally, he chided himself. How could he have been so taken by that cadet that he hadn't heard her coming? Or even open the door? He didn't know what the punishment was for being in a restricted area, but he didn't imagine it was too lenient. For all he knew, he could be about to get expelled. That certainly wouldn't sit well with his father.

The Sergeant's office was on the top floor of the building. They came to a stop outside a door that had her name and title printed on the window in unassuming black letters, and she retrieved the key to unlock it. First, they arrived in a room with a modest amount of seating and a reception desk. Lucas had never been here before, but he assumed it was meant to be a waiting room. Then, she led him through another door into her main office.

When the lights flickered on, Lucas was surprised by just how unfeminine the décor was. It almost felt like some sort of hunting lodge. The room was populated by a heavy wooden desk and bookshelves, as well as a locked gun case that boasted several antique-looking rifles. The entire place was devoid of photos, although there were several paintings depicting historic military battles.

As the Sergeant took her place behind her desk, Lucas came to a stop directly in front and once again stood at attention.

"I have a problem, Cadet," she said without preamble.

"I understand, Ma'am," Lucas stammered, "and I want to assure you it will never happen ag-"

She put her hand up and he immediately fell silent. "Cadet, I am willing to forget I ever saw you in the Monitoring Room."

He looked at her incredulously. "Thank-"

"So long as you are able to do something for me in exchange."

"-you." Lucas was no less than stunned. She was certainly speaking his language, but he had no clue why this woman would need him to do anything. Didn't she run the place? "Of…of course, Ma'am."

"You are familiar with Cadet Simony Knox?" she said as more of a statement than a question.

He shot her a puzzled look. "No, Ma'am."

"Apologies." She looked up at him with the expression of a tiger toying with it's prey. "I assumed from the way you were…ogling…her downstairs…"

"I…I didn't know her name, Ma'am," he said, the guilt apparent in his voice.

"I see." She looked at him through narrow slits. "Regardless," her voice took on the tone of someone giving orders, rather than making a request. "Cadet Knox is working on a project for me, the details of which are…sensitive. She is required to report to me on her progress in regular intervals. Of late, however, it is becoming apparent that she may be withholding vital information.

"I cannot confront her myself, as she is not likely to be forthcoming. However," she cleared her throat, "if there were someone close to her who could determine whether or not she is being dishonest, I may not have to consider more…extreme…measures."

"But Ma'am," Lucas's throat was thoroughly dry, "I don't know her personally. I don't see how I could be any help."

"Sometimes," she cracked a small grin that looked wholly out of place on her face, "the attentions of a young man, such as yourself, can be an…incentive…to speak about things you wouldn't ordinarily divulge."

"I see," this time it was his voice echoing the sentiment. But he didn't see - at least, not right then. It took him a moment to realize the full intent of her words. His eyes grew wider. "Ma'am, am I to understand that you're authorizing fraternization?"

"The Academy's stance on fraternization remains unchanged, Cadet Sergeant," she snapped. Her next words were more measured. "However…I can understand how your efforts may be…misconstrued. I will inform my staff to act accordingly."

Lucas was almost tempted to turn her down. He was making a deal with the devil. But he couldn't accept expulsion - he wouldn't - and he knew in his bones that if he declined her offer that was what he could expect. "Yes, Ma'am. I understand."

"Good." He wished she would wipe that vile grin off her face. "Now, let me make myself clear. Under no circumstances are you to inquire as to the nature of Cadet Knox's extracurricular work. If she volunteers that information, you are to inform me immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Dismissed."

Lucas turned on his heel and left the woman in her office. Immense relief washed over him as he hurried back down to the main floor. He was glad to be out of that office; he was happy to still be a student at the school. But in the back of his mind, he still had that nagging dread that he had just bitten off more than he could chew.

At last, he came to the exit. He flew past the reception desk and was nearly out the door when he had a thought. His eyes moved back to the receptionist. He knew her well. Her Slavic features appealed to him, and he never wasted a chance to flirt with her, even though she was about ten years his senior. What was important at the moment, however, was that she was the worst gossip he had ever known. Nothing happened on this campus without Lieutenant Yeager's knowledge. And he was hoping that would work to his advantage.

"Amanda!" he said in mock-surprise as he sauntered over to the desk. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

She looked up and rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I don't have the time, Sarge."

"Oh, come on." He flashed her his best prize-winning smile. "Not even for me?"

"Especially not for you." She turned her attentions back to her paperwork.

"I promise it won't take too long."

She sighed as she ran her fingers through her blond ponytail. "Fine, fine. If it'll get you out of my hair."

"Aw, now you're starting to sound like you don't enjoy my company," he jibed.

"Sergeant!" she started harshly until she looked up at his beaming face, then softened her voice. "Sarge, I'm just a little behind on my paperwork. What can I do for you?"

"I need some information. So, naturally, I thought of you."

"Naturally," she harrumphed. "And what exactly do you need to know?"

"Oh, nothing really," he said coyly. "It has to do with the basement…"

"I can't tell you anything about the basement."

"Oh, come on!" he said, dropping all pretenses. "What is the big deal about-"

"Sarge," she started slowly, "I can't tell you anything about the basement because I don't know anything about the basement."

He shot her a quizzical look. "You. You don't know?"

"Well, contrary to popular belief," she said, cracking a smile for the first time during the conversation, "I'm not omniscient."

"In that case," he said and flashed her that grin of his once again, "tell me everything you know about Cadet Simony Knox."


	3. Chapter 2

_2._

The first vestiges of summer emerged throughout the parcel of land affectionately known as 'Lovers' Common.' Trees and wildflowers grew unchecked save for periodic mowing, and branches hung low over the wooden benches lining the path that slithered through the landscape. Aside from the hum of vehicles passing through a nearby intersection, the place had an eerie feeling of isolation from the outside world.

Perhaps it was this feeling that attracted students looking for the occasional midnight rendezvous. Of course the Academy had policies against that sort of thing, but teenagers in the throes of adolescent puppy love rarely gave rules and regulations much thought. The only thing of importance was finding a secluded place to indulge themselves. For that, Lovers' Common was perfect. Staff members rarely visited the area, and when they did, it was generally for a lunch break and always during daylight hours.

Now, the sun dipped toward the horizon and bathed the scenery in garnet-hued rays. Not many people remained, and most of those who did had begun making their way back to civilization. Soon, the curfew bells would sound, and anyone caught out after hours was sentenced to a month of hard time scrubbing floors, picking up trash, and scraping gum off the undersides of tables. It was far less pleasant than it sounded.

One person showed no sign of leaving. The boy, no more than sixteen, sat staring into oblivion as a gentle breeze tousled his dark hair. He wondered what it would be like to have one of those romantic midnight encounters, to sneak out of the dorms and know someone was waiting for him right there on that very bench, the familiar combination of hunger and need blazing in their eyes…

…but the thought turned bitter in his mind. Those things could happen for other people, but not him. Not here, at least, and not anytime soon.

He looked at his wristwatch.

Sure, he was here to meet someone - someone who should have been here by now - but romance wasn't on his agenda. Because he was here to meet a girl.

Brooks Bradley just happened to be…batting for the other team.

A little light in the loafers.

A pansy.

_A faggot._

His entire body cringed.

No matter how well he kept it hidden, constant fear of discovery plagued him. It wasn't shame that silenced him; rather, it was a fear for his own well-being. Already, his vocal inflections and mannerisms betrayed him, which gave way to ruthless taunting and torment by his peers. They came up with such lovable (if not original) nicknames as 'Butt Pirate,' 'Pole Smoker,' and his personal favorite, 'Cadet Creampuff.' If they knew the truth? He shuddered to think what horrors might befall him. Better to keep quiet than to open his mouth and suffer a world of hurt.

He threw another impatient glance at his watch and sighed. For three years, his nightly ritual included meeting Simony Knox at Lovers' Common and hiking amongst the trees until dusk. They poured their hearts out and complained about one damned thing or another, but they were always there for each other. Lately though, she had been arriving later and later, and now, she might stand him up completely.

The sun disappeared past the horizon, leaving behind only residual light. Dusk was upon him and Simony was nowhere to be found. If Brooks lingered much longer, he would risk incurring the wrath of the Academy, and scraping the undersides of the Mess Hall tables was not his idea of a good time.

He grunted as he rose; he had been sitting long enough for his legs to stiffen. He had given Simony all the time that he dared. If he didn't leave now, the dorm staff would catch him on his way back in. Oh, Simony was going to hear it when he saw her again. She was-

"Hope you haven't given up on me yet."

Brooks's heart leapt out of his chest and a yelp escaped his throat.

"Didn't mean to give you a heart attack." Her voice sounded playful, but when she stepped around the bench to sit down, he saw the weariness on her face. Any admonishments disappeared from his mind as soon as they came.

"You're late." he said without reprove as he plopped down next to her.

"I'm so close, Brooks. _So_ close." Her voice became soft and vulnerable.

"I really wish you would tell me what it is you're close _to._"

"You know I can't," she said. "Curtis would hang us both."

"Yeah? What do you think she's gonna do to you when you're finished? Give you a medal?"

She looked at him with tired eyes. This was an old argument. Simony never told him exactly what she was working on in the basement of the main building, but he knew it was something big - dangerous - and Sgt. Curtis wanted it. Had, in fact, provided Simony with the tools to finish it. And Sgt. Curtis wasn't a woman known for her generosity.

"I don't know, okay?" She ran both hands through her hair. "I don't know."

They sat in silence for a moment. Brooks knew she was trying to make the best of a bad situation. He didn't know why she continued the project knowing that Curtis would ultimately usurp it from her. But then again, if you lock a musician alone in a room with his instrument, would he not eventually play? He supposed the same was true of scientists and research.

"Listen, I'm sorry for not showing up sooner." She broke the silence. "You know how I get when I'm on a roll…"

"It's no big deal." He paused. "So…how close to finishing this thing are you?"

"Close." She gave him a sober expression. "All I have to do is…" and she lapsed into a string of techno-babble she knew he wouldn't understand. Brooks tried to nod in all the right places, but she didn't notice. She was too absorbed in her explanation.

She went on for what seemed like forever until he realized that she wasn't talking anymore.

"What?" he asked.

"That's exactly what I need!" She jumped from the bench with excitement gleaming in her eyes. "Come on!"

"Whoa, wait!" He stood as well. "What do you need?"

"Just come with me to the Mess Hall."

"Simony…" He looked at his watch. "Oh, sh…" A loud ringing in his ears cut him off.

It was the curfew bell.

"Great," he said while the last echoes of the bell were still sounding. "Just great. Now I'm going to be stuck scrubbing floors for the next four weeks."

"So you might as well come with me." As usual, he couldn't argue with her. He was already going to be strung up; what difference did it make if he went back to the dorms now or later?

He rolled his eyes. "Fine."

* * *

"Fine," came the voice from the other side of the trees where Lucas Sergeant took refuge. Lieutenant Yeager couldn't be counted on for much when it came to paperwork, but when it came to other people's business, she knew it better than they did.

Simony Knox made it a point to visit Lovers' Common every evening for the past three years, and this did not go undetected by Yeager's eagle eye. It didn't take a great deal of persuasion on Lucas's part to uncover this information. The woman had no qualms with telling anyone's business to anyone else. Had she known about Lucas's clandestine mission, she might have held her tongue…but probably not.

Lucas had waited behind his tree for what seemed like hours, watching people come and go. He was about to give up and call it a night when he noticed the girl from the surveillance videos sneaking up behind the boy he knew to be Brooks Bradley. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why she would be meeting _that_ fruit fly in Lovers' Common, but he doubted it was for anything amorous. Most likely she had taken pity on him but still couldn't bear to be seen with him in public.

By now, any semblance of daylight had gone, and the curfew bells had rang. Lucas toyed with the idea of heading back to the dorms (he could probably come up with a plausible reason for his lateness so as not to be put on cleaning duty) but Simony and Brooks were heading in the opposite direction. He had to know what they were up to.

He waited until the shadows swallowed them up and set off after them. He had heard her mention the mess hall, and assumed that's where they were headed, but he didn't want to lose them, just to be safe.

As he tailed them, he thought about Curtis's little assignment. Doing her bidding left him feeling unclean. Which was saying a lot, considering that tales of his debauchery regaled even the senior cadets. Yes, he could charm the pants off anyone he needed to when the situation called for it, and he could probably sell a catsup popsicle to a man in a white suit, but this deal with the devil gnawed at him. He was better than this.

_Obviously not, _the voice inside his head said.

The last thing he needed was to be expelled. And this…this 'mission' was merely a means to an end. It was just like playing 'spy' when he was a kid. He told himself that the moment he had the information Curtis wanted, he would wash his hands of the entire thing, go home for the summer, and forget about it. He told himself that there was nothing wrong with what Curtis asked of him; it was completely understandable that she thought she wouldn't get a straight answer if she herself asked the questions. And since Curtis was the one who authorized this project in the first place, wasn't she entitled to know what was going on? He told himself these things in order to justify his covert surveillance, but he only half-believed them.

He could justify spying on an enemy for military purposes.

Right now though, it felt like it was the enemy he was spying for.

He wouldn't lurk around in the shadows for long.

* * *

The Mess Hall doors weren't locked because the kitchen staff hadn't finished clean up after dinner. The cafeteria tables (the very same horrendously uncomfortable fold-up tables that plague schools everywhere) were folded up in the middle and pushed off to one side. A lemony aroma rose from the floors, and the scent of bleach and sanitizer emanated from the kitchen itself. All but the most essential of lights were shut off, giving the dining room a theatre-like quality.

"You two shouldn't be here." The voice echoed from behind the serving counter, where its owner was busy scrubbing. Lieutenant Candi Beneviedes was a tall, thin woman who bucked the stereotype that all lunch ladies were short, frumpy, elephantine women who aged neither gracefully nor classily. Brooks knew from experience that she ran this place like a drill sergeant - he had been on kitchen duty more than once.

"We know we're out past curfew, Lieutenant," Simony said quickly as Lt. Beneviedes stepped closer to them. "We were on our way back from the park and I realized I'd lost one of my notebooks. The last place I remembered having it was here."

She looked them over closely, as if expecting them to disappear. Adrenaline was already coursing through Brooks's veins, and her scrutiny made it worse. He couldn't believe what they were there to take, and right then, he had trouble believing they would get away with it.

"Well," she began, "no one's turned one in, and I haven't come across one, so I'd have to say it's not here."

Simony feigned disappointment. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure honey. Haven't seen it."

"Can I use the restroom?" This time it was Brooks's voice.

Beneviedes studied him for a moment. "Make it a quick one. You two need to get to the dorms."

"I will," he said and took off toward the restroom. He saw the Lieutenant glance over her shoulder long enough to make sure he was going where he said he was going, then turn her attention back to Simony.

"So, Lieutenant," he heard Simony say, "how long have you been working for St. Johns?"

Brooks did not, in fact, have to use the restroom. The facilities in the Mess Hall just happened to be close to the kitchen entrance, which was his real destination. He turned back to Simony to make sure the Lieutenant still had her back to him, then pushed the bathroom door open. As it whooshed shut, he rushed into the kitchen.

The bright lights in the kitchen took a little getting used to after the dimness of the dining room itself, but Brooks knew exactly where he was going. He zigzagged around the prep areas and cleaning stations and headed directly to the walk-in freezer. He gave the large metal door an incredulous look. He simply could not believe he was doing this.

The stark cold of the freezer surrounded him the instant he walked in. He stood there a moment, rubbing his arms and looking around.

It wasn't there.

Maybe they were out.

Oh, God, what now?

He was just about to cut his losses and leave when he spotted the lone item in the bottom corner of the freezer. He snatched it with both hands, and bolted out, heading for the back door. He would drop it just outside, and they would pick it up when they left. Simple as that.

When he got back to the dining room, Brooks peered around the corner, and sure enough, Lt. Beneviedes hadn't budged while he was gone. Once again, he pushed the bathroom door to support the illusion that he used the restroom, then strolled back to Simony and the Lieutenant like nothing happened.

Inwardly, he sighed relief.

"All right, you guys get going," Lt. Beneviedes said when she spotted Brooks walking back from the restroom. "You're gonna be in enough trouble as it is."

The minute they were out the doors, Simony started in, "Tell me you got it."

"Yes, I got it, but it was freaking cold in there!"

"Poor baby. Where's it at?"

"Outside the back door. C'mon," Brooks said as he lead her around the building.

Darkness hung around the Mess Hall like a shroud. Brooks could see where he was going, but just barely. Simony followed close behind, and when they rounded the corner to the rear of the building, light poured out of the kitchen windows, giving Brooks enough illumination to see that their prize was not where he left it.

"It was right there!" he whispered to Simony. "I swear! I don't know what hap-"

"This has _got_ to be the strangest thing I've ever seen someone steal."

Simony and Brooks both jumped.

"I mean…are you gonna cook this or something?" Just then, Lucas Sergeant stepped through the light of the windows. In his hands, still frozen solid, was a round, vacuum-sealed package containing a whole roasting chicken.

"What the hell are you doing here Lucas?" Brooks said when he found his voice.

"Cadet Creampuff!" Lucas said with the impression of seeing an old friend after ten years. Lucas was _not_ an old friend. In fact, he was almost single-handedly responsible for most of the torment Brooks endured these days. "How've you been? Where's your fairy wand, by the way?"

"You're an idiot." This voice was Simony's. When Lucas turned his attention to her, she thrust her chin out, daring him to make a snide remark.

Instead, he flashed his smile and strode close to her. "The fairy I know, but I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"That's right, you haven't," she said.

If he was put off, it didn't show. "I'm Lucas Sergeant. My friends call me Sarge, but _you_ can call me anytime you want."

Simony stared at him. "Are you serious?" She plucked the chicken from his hands. "I don't know what disgusts me more: The fact that you were obviously stalking us, or the fact that you _really_ think that you have a snowball's chance in hell with me after what you just did."

Lucas's smile never wavered. "Alright, I guess I'll just have to let Lt. Beneviedes know that the kitchen is missing tomorrow night's main course."

Simony narrowed her eyes at him.

"Unless you'd maybe consider taking in a movie with yours truly this weekend."

She stood in front of him nose to nose. "If you want to tell Lt. Beneviedes, you be my guest." Her voice was low, and Brooks had to strain to hear her. "But you just remember that you'll be in just as much trouble for being out after curfew as we are. Now we're leaving. You do what you want."

* * *

Lucas watched dumbfounded as Simony stormed off toward her lab, chicken in hand. Brooks, for his part, wore a wide grin as he followed, and Lucas found it somewhat irritating. He waited until they disappeared, then followed in their general direction. He would get Heidelman to escort him back to the dorm and tell the staff member on duty he was helping out with security issues. And if he wouldn't do it? Well, Lucas would hardly have enough time to make burger runs if he was on cleaning detail.

_You can call me anytime you want?_ he thought. _Smooth. Real smooth._

As he walked, he continued chiding himself. Why was he so caught up on this girl anyway? She seemed so out of place at a military school, and he thought that was part of it. That she was a goldfish in an aquarium full of minnows. He really wanted to get to know her, and that was the strangest thing of all. He wasn't known for being particularly monogamous, or for being interested in a girl above the neck, but damned if he wasn't this time. This time, he was so enamored with her that he forgot just how bizarre it was to steal a roasting chicken from the Mess Hall.

Oh, well. She may have rebuffed him tonight, but tomorrow was another day. Strike one, as they say.


End file.
